


catch me, catch me (i'll hold on still)

by coppertears



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Best Friends, Bullying, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, Slow Burn, university!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 15:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7228009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coppertears/pseuds/coppertears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sometimes it takes a while to realize what you have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	catch me, catch me (i'll hold on still)

  
**catch me, catch me (i’ll hold on still)**  
minseok/luhan  
pg-13  
sometimes it takes a while to realize what you have.

 

 

 

 

they have a cat.

they have a cat because luhan’s always wanted a pet, and it’s always been minseok’s job to indulge luhan because that’s what minseok does. they choose a cat because apartment complex regulations don’t like dogs, and they have a long and wide argument over hamsters and white mice (which really just consists of minseok nodding his head and pretending to listen as luhan bursts into a list of pros and cons about each animal he’s ever seen in his entire life). minseok gets lost halfway through luhan debating with himself about the fluffiness of gerbils, and when luhan finds the air he’s lost after speaking for quite some time, minseok asks, “what about a cat?”

and luhan stares at him with this surprised look pasted on his face that minseok’s pretty much used to. he’s used to almost everything about luhan, from the windmill kicks in the bed to the early morning wake-up calls just so they can play soccer. he’s used to all of that and so he blinks, watching the way stars cling to the ends of luhan’s eyelashes.

“what about a cat?” luhan repeats, voice smooth and slow and soothing and almost manic in the way the syllables roll off of his tongue. “a cat is perfect.”

they get the cat from the tiny man in the tiny pet shop tucked into the corner between the city and downtown, its facade papered in black-and-white flyers trying to hide the place from the rest of the world. the tiny man, whose name is joonmyeon, chooses a perfect little brown ball of a sleepy kitten, all curled up in the corner of her cage. he leaves them instructions and a smile that leaks brightness everywhere, and when they get back to their unit, luhan forgets about the history paper that’s due tomorrow and feeds the cat instead.

that, minseok thinks, is where it all goes wrong.

 

 

 

 

he meets luhan in the driveway of his hopes, one summer day when the sun rests on the clouds for far too long. minseok’s the new kid with insecurities in his pocket and fear in his throat, and when his mom tells him to go outside and play in the sunshine-soaked street, he obeys because it feels like the house still smells of too much paint.

he has a ball in one hand and loneliness in the other, because school’s just about to start and minseok’s yet to have a friend. he wonders if he’ll even have a friend, someone he can share secrets with, because the hallways often resound with whispers whenever someone shiny and unfamiliar and _new_ comes along. and it scares minseok, so much so that he sits on the curb and tries to figure out if scoring goals into a trash can that’s toppled over will ever make him feel better.

there’s a tap on his shoulder and he looks up to see a thin stick of boy, all bones and fair skin and a jaw-consuming smile. the boy seems like he’s younger than minseok, his face sweet and baby-ish and on the tipping point of being effeminate, and he points at the ball that minseok’s holding.

“you play...soccer?” he asks in accented korean that minseok finds just a tiny bit endearing. “i,” he jabs a finger at his own chest, “play soccer.”

“yes,” minseok says, trying to identify the foreign quality of luhan’s speech. he gives up and thinks that it’s not that important. “do you want to…” he looks down at the ball then back up at luhan.

the excited nod that luhan gives him causes happiness to rise out of minseok’s lips, and he stands up with a lighter feeling trapped in his chest. “then let’s play.”

and minseok forgets. the insecurities drop out of a hole in his pocket and his lungs fill up with joy, and all too soon he’s found someone he can share secrets with. they build blanket forts and go hunting for treasures in the public park, and sometimes when minseok retreats into his shell, luhan holds onto his hand and pulls him out.

his anxiety is unfounded. when school starts he doesn’t stutter, and he takes a seat in the middle that’s right beside luhan’s, and he comes home to apple pie and the scent of _being okay_ , and he thinks he owes it all to the boy who lives next door.

this is how minseok meets luhan, and how luhan meets minseok. this is how they become the best of friends and, years later when they’re climbing up the rungs of education that is college, this is how they become roommates.

 

 

 

 

the cat occupies much of luhan’s attention, minseok notices, and that’s saying something. when he gets home he puts out a bowl of water and a bowl of food, and he cleans up the litter box and brushes the cat’s fur. her name’s kitty, and when minseok raises an eyebrow at the blatant lack of creativity, luhan just shrugs and says _don’t give me that look, minseok, kitty just fits her perfectly._ and minseok just says, _of course it does, luhan_ , because minseok’s the one who always gives in.

he looks after kitty, too. he does all that luhan does whenever luhan’s not around, and there are times when minseok has to tell luhan to just _go and sit for your exams, luhan, i’ll take care of kitty for you_ because luhan’s about to cut his lit midterms again. and luhan will whimper and say, _but she wants me to stay, minseok_ , and minseok just continues pushing him out the door.

whenever he feeds kitty, he gets this urge to ask her if she even notices -- if she even cares for the attention that luhan’s pouring on her, if she knows that it’s something minseok values. he thinks of the times luhan’s been draped around him like a second skin, like they share the same body and function as one unit. but minseok’s been missing it for some time now, has missed it ever since high school’s come around and luhan’s become more than just the _boy next door_.

when you get used to things, it feels a tiny bit emptier when they’re gone. and it sucks because minseok’s let himself get used to _everything_ about luhan, to the hairline cracks hiding beneath the polished surface of luhan’s smile, to the way luhan takes the ball down the grass and aims for the goal, to the exact angle that milk drips down luhan’s chin as he tries to shovel enough cereal down for breakfast. and he gets used to luhan every day, to the fresh quirks that pop out whenever luhan’s unguarded.

he thinks it’ll drive him insane one day.

he clears out kitty’s litter box and walks her for thirty minutes in the dust rising from the pavement, and he wonders why he’s so fixated in the luster and shine that make up luhan, when minseok himself has grown dull through the years that pass both of them by.

 

 

 

 

the first time that minseok gets into a fight is because of luhan.

luhan’s not even anywhere near him. it’s dusk falling down the crevices in the clouds, and minseok’s on the winding streets back home on his own. it’s one of those strange moments when he feels a little hollow beneath his rib cage, but luhan has to attend a family dinner today and his apology still burns through minseok’s mind.

the rough shove comes later, when there’s only cement to meet his skin, and minseok cringes for all of a second before he tries to see his attacker’s face. shaded in the vibrant yellow of the street lamp above is a boy he’s not that familiar with. his clouded memory tells him it’s a classmate, a face who sits by the window in the third to the last row, and he wonders what he’s done to warrant this treatment.

“what’s your problem?” he asks, gritting his teeth. he pushes himself back up, not really wanting to fix this with violence, and he can’t think of any reason why he’s been singled out like this. minseok’s always been the quiet kid, the one with a whole host of expressions but devoid of words, and he’s done his best to stay out of everyone else’s way.

silence meets his question. then: “you think you’re all that, don’t you, just because you’re friends with luhan?” a fist swings out and minseok meets it with an open palm, but all his senses point to confusion. what does luhan have to do with this? minseok knows his best friend’s practically a living saint, and he doesn’t get why this kid’s calling him out for being friends with him.

“luhan’s done nothing wrong,” minseok says, anger spilling onto his words. “stop bothering me.”

“of course luhan’s done nothing wrong.” the other boy’s tone is taunting. “i have a problem with _you_. you’re nothing special. who’d pay attention to you? so you attach yourself to luhan and become his best friend, and now everyone knows kim minseok.” he pauses, and a grin slashes through his face. “little _baozi_.”

minseok can’t breathe. throughout the entire time he’s known luhan, he’s never ever thought of using his friend like that. minseok never _uses_ anyone, period. that’s why he lives on the corners of the student population, not quite socializing outside his personal bubble unless it’s luhan making him do so, and he thinks back to the time he first meets luhan. he thinks back to his anxiety dripping down the sidewalk and the ball weighing down his hand, and he thinks of luhan coming along and making all his worries disappear.

“you don’t know anything,” he says, prepared to turn his back on this person and continue walking back home where he feels safe. “so don’t accuse me of stuff that’s not true.” he lets go of the boy’s hand.

minseok’s body is three-fourths of the way through turning around when a punch connects with his stomach. he stumbles, teeters, like a boat that’s run aground. and he can’t -- he can’t even put up a fight, not when the dark’s swallowing him whole and the pain corrodes him, and he doesn’t understand why it’s like this. he’s 13 and he’s always tried to see the good in people because that’s what luhan’s taught him: the benefit of the doubt, the belief in innocence. but there are people who are meant to destroy and hurt and punish, and minseok knows there’s one such person standing in front of him.

he manages to put up a fight and land some blows of his own. he’s uncoordinated at best but he has raw strength to work with, and his desperation makes him capable of being more violent than usual. when at last he’s all laid out on the ground, breath knocked out of him and lungs about to collapse, the other boy rises with his shirt rumpled beyond belief. he spits at minseok’s face and misses, and then he storms away.

minseok watches the stars. he sees them twinkle, distant and unreachable, and with a sigh that’s endless, he picks the pieces of himself scattered on the concrete and limps his way home.

he takes care to use the back door.

 

 

 

 

luhan’s limbs are tangled up with the sofa covers, his entire body knotted in a pretzel. in the midst of it all, kitty rests on a pillow near his head, cat and owner both lost in the bliss of sleep.

minseok sighs, closing the main door behind him. he tries to organize the living room but he knocks into the center table, and luhan’s books fall like rain on the carpet. he gives up and perches on the edge of the sofa instead, head out of sorts and body aching, and he watches peace sweep over luhan’s face.

when the darkness is tiptoeing soft and slow into the room like this, minseok finds himself drowning deeper than usual. he watches shadows cross from end to end, and the image of luhan is branded into his mind, and he knows it’s not supposed to be like this.

kitty meowls a little and luhan frowns, hand reaching out instinctively for the ball of fur that’s right beside him. and minseok finds himself wishing and hoping and --

but he stands up. he leaves his jacket over luhan’s body, fingers lingering for just a second, and then he makes his way to the bedroom where there is an actual mattress ready to receive him. he sinks into the lap of comfort and his thoughts swirl up, up, up.

it’s like that pothole in the road, minseok thinks. like a crack in the ceiling, the blue bird twittering on the front porch, the burst of melody in the silence, the light burning low. it’s anything and everything all caught up in dreaming, and as the stars sigh out their sorrows, he wanders back to sleep.

this feeling, this feeling he hopes will be gone soon.

 

 

 

 

luhan peels himself off of minseok on the autumn of junior year in high school. it’s a subtle change, one that minseok doesn’t realize is happening until it’s happened. it starts with luhan’s clinginess diminishing, grain by grain, his touches less frequent. and no, there’s nothing between them, minseok knows -- they’re just friends, and luhan’s the one who’s obsessed with skinship like it’s some kind of drug.

they don’t always eat lunch together, each one nurturing a new set of interests and friends. and there are days that pass when luhan doesn’t fit his chin into the space between minseok’s neck and shoulder, his doll eyes growing glassy whenever minseok ignores him for even a second, and sometimes minseok misses that weight on his shoulder.

they’re still best friends, still the ones who know each other the best, but they’re on a trajectory that’s only ever going downward, and minseok can tell where this is going. from afar he sees luhan get consumed by another life he’s cultivated, a life without minseok in it, and minseok thinks that this is perhaps the life luhan would have had if he’d never met minseok. it stings, just a tiny, tiny bit that luhan doesn’t pay much attention to him anymore, but minseok brushes it aside.

(yet it takes root in a corner of his heart, growing and growing until it eats up most of the space, and there comes a time when it suffocates him too much and he knows he’s never really been okay with it.)

when they graduate from senior year, luhan throws an arm around him and says, “we’re going to the same college!” and his voice is the same as ever, and it’s like they’ve never drifted apart, and minseok lets a smile crack through his lips frosted with ice.

in the back of his mind, he wonders just how much of his future’s been influenced by the presence of luhan. he wonders if he’d chosen his college and his course by himself or if somehow, in some obscure way, luhan had been the one to choose for him. minseok’s not certain anymore. all he knows is that he’s forever been intertwined with luhan, and even if they sail in and out of each other’s lives, they still find a hundred and one ways to collide.

he says _yes_ when luhan asks if he wants both of them to share an apartment.

 

 

 

 

it happens on a monday afternoon when luhan’s stuck in classes and minseok’s just returned to the apartment. he’s tired beyond belief, and he slips inside the apartment in a daze. he goes through the motions of preparing kitty’s food and water, clearing out kitty’s litter box, and then he calls for kitty. no cat comes. minseok frowns to himself, and he inspects every room in the apartment.

there is not a single sign of the cat anywhere.

it’s when he reaches the living room that he realizes the window’s been left open. it’s the same one that kitty can always reach, and the glass pane still bears scratches from her numerous attempts to get out. minseok sits there numb, and all he’s thinking is _luhan luhan luhan_ , and pictures of a fluffy brown cat flash in his mind’s eye.

he gets lost in the city, a headache trickling into his system, and the moon has come out by the time minseok gives up. he won’t find kitty, not tonight, perhaps not ever. and so he trudges back to the apartment, the world spinning all round him, and he clutches the door frame for support before he enters.

luhan’s in a state of panic, the apartment looking like it’s been turned inside out and outside in. he turns to minseok, his hair a bird’s nest crowning his head. “where’s kitty?” he asks, voice rising and falling out of minseok’s consciousness. “did you take her out for a walk?” he peers at minseok’s feet and his face falls when he sees no sign of the cat. “i can’t find her anwhere!”

and maybe, maybe it’s the fact that he’s not feeling well, maybe it’s the tinge of responsibility that lingers in his bloodstream, maybe his brain’s a bit addled after all that searching. but minseok will probably never know why he says what he does: “i let her out.”

the walls constrict at the sound of a lie he’s spun, but luhan’s eyes widen in shock. “you did what?”

“i let her out,” minseok says, that single nugget of untruth falling so easily out of his open lips. the world tilts a little bit more to the left and he resists the urge to melt down to the floor. there are chills climbing up his spine.

“minseok,” luhan says, and tears are beginning to form in his eyes, “minseok, why would you do that?”

minseok just shakes his head. he doesn’t know where up or down, left or right is. the globe is skewed and minseok’s just not at the right angle, not where he’s supposed to be. he’s nothing special. he feels the bruises bloom in places he’s learned to hide by wearing sweaters, remembers how blood leaves a wound drop by excruciating drop. he stumbles towards his bedroom, luhan’s voice growing fainter and fainter, and he crawls into bed without changing his clothes.

the fever worms its way in the moment he closes his eyes.

 

 

 

 

perhaps he’s always been in love with luhan. in love with that sunshine smile and brown doll eyes, that giving heart and endless warmth. in love with how the lines creep onto luhan’s face when he’s laughing, in love with how luhan wraps himself around minseok without the slightest inkling whatsoever of personal space.

the hole in his heart just swells up every single time he thinks of him, of the boy who’s never really needed minseok in his life. and minseok thinks that it can be that way for him too -- he can leave all this behind, because he’s never really needed luhan in his life. minseok can function without him. minseok can breathe without him.

it’s just that he misses luhan when he’s gone.

and no, he doesn’t need him at all, minseok realizes. there is no _need_ in this equation. he’s been aware of it from the start.

minseok doesn’t need luhan. he just _wants_ him, every single minute of every single day.

 

 

 

 

the fever dissipates after three days. luhan stands guard over him throughout that time, and minseok knows this because whenever he opens his eyes, he gets fractured cutscenes of luhan fussing with his pillows and his blankets, trying to get food into his stomach. he’s trapped in a daze and minseok doesn’t know how to swim towards sanity, but he has a vague recollection of times like this -- of luhan never leaving his side, of luhan hovering around him like a shadow.

he stares up at the ceiling, wondering if the heaviness in his chest will ever go away. will it fade? there are nights when he wishes he’d said _no_ to luhan, that he’d never agreed to living with the same boy he’s loved for (maybe, maybe) all of his life. it won’t hurt this much, then. it won’t ruin him, because being so near to someone you love and not really having him at the same time is the worst kind of pain that minseok’s ever had to experience.

he tries to sit up but a hand pushes him down, and minseok doesn’t protest. luhan’s fingers brush away the fringe that’s covering minseok’s forehead, and concern glimmers deep in the brown of his eyes. “rest. you’ve been sick for the past few days, and you haven’t really recovered yet.”

minseok doesn’t respond. he counts the sheep sewn into his blankets and wonders if he’ll fall asleep again. does he want to? perhaps he does.

“i…” luhan pauses, struggling for the right words to fill the emptiness between them. “i put out flyers for kitty.”

minseok looks up at him, his vocal cords long divorced from sound, and he keeps his lips sealed. luhan continues to run his fingers through minseok’s hair, the motion soothing his frayed nerves.

“you weren’t home that night,” luhan says. he’s staring straight ahead. “when i got back, you weren’t home. that’s when i found out kitty was missing. did you…” he swallows. “were you looking for kitty? was that the reason why you weren’t around when i arrived?”

minseok doesn’t answer. his mind’s a puzzle and there are several pieces missing, and he’s known that something between them has been broken for some time now. he doesn’t know if it can be repaired.

“minseok, you -- you never share anything with me anymore,” luhan says, and his voice is streaked with loss. “we used to talk a lot, you used to tell me a lot of stuff. but then you stopped. you didn’t even...when i was asking you what pet you wanted, you didn’t give me an answer, so when you suggested a cat i just chose that right away. why is it like this? we’re supposed to be -- we’re supposed to be --”

this is where it ends. they’re on the edges of the cliff now, ready for the free fall. and, minseok thinks, they’ve been headed here all along.

he closes his eyes. “luhan?” he says, tasting it on his tongue one last time. this is the moment he will start to forget this name. the letters will soon fade away.

“yes?” that one word is just about to break.

“i’m moving out of this apartment next week.”

 

 

 

 

he recovers completely after another day of rest. minseok begins packing, and when luhan asks him where he’s going, he answers, “to yixing’s.” and luhan doesn’t say anything else after that, doesn’t utter a word beyond customary greetings, does not overstep the boundaries. he helps minseok pack, but mostly he just sits by and watches one half of the apartment waste away.

minseok’s moving on. there are moments when hurt flares up in his chest and the urge to cry grows stronger, and whenever he catches sight of luhan it’s like another tear through his heart. but he doesn’t need luhan, he’s never needed luhan, and he tells himself that every single minute of every single day.

it’s raining on the day that minseok’s due to move into yixing’s apartment, and all his boxes and suitcases are piled up in the living room. luhan’s nowhere to be seen and minseok thinks that’s even better, because he’s still shaky whenever he sees luhan, and this is just for the best. but there’s a pang in his chest because they’ve always been together for the past 20 years, and there’s no proper goodbye between them.

the doorbell rings and minseok lets yixing in, and they soon begin to haul his stuff to yixing’s car. somewhere between the fourth and sixth boxes, luhan comes out of his room but minseok doesn’t notice him. he’s just going back for the seventh box, his heart growing heavier and heavier, when a fragile porcelain hand wraps around his wrist. minseok’s eyes trail up, and when he sees luhan’s reddened eyes and his trembling lips, it feels like everything’s been ground to dust.

“why?” luhan whispers.

minseok hates how he doesn’t have an answer. or maybe he does, maybe he’s had an answer all along, but it’s too hard to say and it’s better not said. he shakes his head and luhan’s hold on him tightens, and when yixing spots them he just walks back out and closes the door.

“why?” luhan insists, tears tracing paths down his cheeks, and minseok thinks that he looks beautiful. he’s always been beautiful, always been the one thing minseok can never truly have. “if you’re leaving like this, then tell me why, minseok! i deserve to know.”

“let me go, luhan.” weariness taints his words and fatigue crawls into his bones. “yixing’s waiting outside.”

“i’m not letting you go until you talk to me, minseok,” luhan says, and he’s shaking all over and minseok doesn’t know what to do. _how to quit you, luhan?_ he thinks to himself. _how do i stop wanting you?_ “i want us to _talk_.”

“it’s too late,” minseok says, and his statement resonates between them. it’s too late. talking will do them no good, and minseok wants to keep his eyes dry at least. luhan drops his hand as if he’s been burned, and minseok tries to ignore that twisted feeling in his gut, and he just wants to be able to breathe again. he steps back, box safely in his arms.

and then it crashes to the floor, notebooks and papers and pens and pencils clattering on the tiles, and minseok’s pressed up against the wall and luhan’s lips are on his. and minseok, minseok is drowning, minseok’s head under and there’s no air, and he just _wants_ and _wants_ and _wants_ luhan so goddamn bad it hurts.

when they break apart, luhan buries his face in the space between minseok’s neck and shoulder, and minseok thinks that this weight is just too familiar.

“i…” luhan’s voice wavers, and there are cracks appearing in his voice. “i love you.”

minseok freezes. he can’t move, he can’t think, he can’t do anything at all.

“i can’t let you go like this, minseok,” luhan whispers. “i don’t think i can ever let you go. and you won’t -- you won’t even tell me why, you won’t even explain why you’re leaving, and i don’t know what i’ve done to make you do this. did you…” he raises his head and stares straight into minseok’s eyes, into minseok’s soul. “did you know that i was -- am -- in love with you? is that the reason why you’re leaving? because you don’t feel the same way and -- and --” luhan looks away, eyes wild. “i tried my best to hide it. goddammit, minseok, i’ve been hiding it for all these years.”

“you’ve been...what?” minseok’s not sure of anything anymore. the floor’s crumbled beneath his feet, and he’s still in a daze.

luhan inhales and faces him again. “i know,” he says, “i know we’re best friends. under no circumstances am i supposed to feel this way. but i couldn’t help it, minseok, it just happened -- and in junior year of high school it just got worse.”

he remembers luhan moving away. he remembers luhan saying _just go ahead, minseok_ and _i can’t make it today_ and _i’m sorry, minseok, something came up_.

he remembers the peak of luhan’s possessiveness in the first few months of junior year, and he remembers feeling abandoned when school resumed after the autumn break.

“i pulled away as much as i could,” luhan continues. “i involved myself in other activities, and i made up excuses whenever we were supposed to meet. but it sucked because you found other friends, and you grew closer to them, and by the end of senior year i couldn’t take it anymore.” his laughter sounds hollow. “when we were filling in the application forms for college, i made sure to copy your choices. i was so desperate, minseok, so pathetic.” he waves a hand at the boxes stacked a few feet away. “and now you’re leaving. i guess that’s what gave me the courage, to be honest. i wanted to tell you. i wanted to get this off my chest.” his hand reaches out and traces minseok’s jawline. “maybe i was hoping for some kind of miracle, too.”

and minseok takes hold of that, hangs onto that window of opportunity: “what kind of miracle?” he hears himself ask, and he knows there’s just one answer he’s waiting for.

luhan’s smile is sad, a rose wilting before its time. “for you to love me back.”

the world tilts, just a little on its axis. night blends with day. here, they are distilled into two souls seeking their other halves, unaware that it’s right in front of them.

minseok draws in a breath.

one.

two.

and: “what if i do love you back?”

luhan’s lips part in what looks like half-blind hope and maybe relief. “do you?”

minseok lets a smile lift the corners of his mouth. “i’ve always loved you.”

luhan bursts into tears.

 

 

 

 

yixing helps return minseok’s boxes to the apartment, and he rolls his eyes at the two of them. “next time, please make sure that you really are moving. also, if you have something to confess, do it before you drag other people into your mess.”

“sorry,” luhan says, a blush tinting his cheeks.

yixing pats both of them on the back. “anyway,” he says, “long time coming, you two. took you long enough.” he leaves, and soon they hear the sound of his car driving away.

minseok’s just about to unpack his things when luhan drags him away. “where are we going?” he asks, confused and just a tiny bit lighter than usual.

“here,” luhan says, “right here.” and then he’s kissing minseok (again), and minseok melts right into it, and he thinks _right here_ sounds good to him. it’s where he wants to be, where he belongs.

 

 

 

 

they buy a new cat. minseok names it satine, and neither of them has given up on kitty, but in the meantime she’ll have a sister waiting for her.

and minseok’s still too used to luhan, too used to the warmth that seeps into his skin when luhan holds him close, too used to how luhan’s lips feel when they murmur his name against his skin. it’s dangerous, letting himself be tugged into the pattern like this, but minseok thinks that maybe it’s okay to let his guards down from time to time.

getting used to luhan is just too easy, and minseok should just let things be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**a/n:**  
a peace offering. lovely [](http://caressingflames.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://caressingflames.livejournal.com/)**caressingflames** made this readable.  



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